Once upon a time, my Friday and Saturday night plans went something like this: "Let's get really drunk and..." The ellipsis periods take the place of any inane task or activity that might come into my head, or the heads of the Monkey Boys with whom I spent time with during my Days Of Wine And Roses. The expectation was fairly simple. After enough adult beverages were consumed, most everything took on the appearance of fun. Some of it might actually have been. Hard to tell in hindsight.
Or incredibly easy.
I say this in the context of a story that does not include me, but it might have. A man went with his family from the United Kingdom to Jamaica on vacation. As part of this enterprise, the father of the clan decided to take on the resort's challenge to consume all twenty-one of their signature cocktails before last call. He made it to twelve. Then he went back to his room where he collapsed and died. The family has set up a GoFundMe page to help get dad's body back home, and are roundly criticizing the efforts of the first responders.
Which makes me glad that I did most of my "let's get really drunk and..." in my twenties. I would imagine that many of my hijinks back in the day might have ended differently had I put them off for thirty years. Showing up to work hung over as a video clerk didn't play so bad compared to having a morning after as a school teacher. Or as a husband. Or a father. All those youthful indiscretions were solidly in my rearview by the time I decided to settle down.
Which is why they call it that, I think. If you're the type with wild oats to sow, I respectfully suggest that you sow them during that time that you won't put an embarrassing damper on your family's travel plans. I am reasonably sure that "let's get really drunk and pass away so that mum and the kids will have to debase themselves online to raise the money to get my bloated carcass back home" wasn't on the official itinerary.
These days, on Fridays and Saturdays, I stay sober and sit around judging people.
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